Anchor
by Mad Maudlin
Summary: After the end, Harry finds himself adrift. Ron gives him something to hold on to.


Title: Anchor  
Author: Mad Maudlin  
Email:  
Catergory: Angst, romance  
Keywords: Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, slash, R/H, post-Hogwarts  
Rating: PG  
Spoilers: Mini-ones for CoS and GoF.  
Summary: After the end, Harry finds himself adrift and drifting. Ron help him right himself again.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Anchor  
by Mad Maudlin

The sky was black, thick air rolled about by a gusty wind, and mutters of thunder brought word of lightening over the horizon. Stepping outside the castle doors was worse than being thrown into the lake, because the lake, at least, you could climb out of. The rain was falling sideways, the wind whipped the trees into frantic fits, and one eighteen-year-old boy ran across the grounds with a cloak over his head while roundly cursing all thickheaded invalids.

He ran onto the Quidditch pitch, paused for a moment to cast a quick amplification charm, then bellowed into the storm: _"HARRY POTTER, YOU GET YOUR SCRAWNY ARSE DOWN HERE **RIGHT NOW!"**_

A moment later a dark speck appeared against the darker sky, the same speck Ron had spotted with his Omnioculars from the warm security of the castle. It grew into the sodden silhouette of the aforementioned invalid, who landed and dismounted his broom. His cloak was drenched and clung to his body, and his hair was plastered completely flat for probably the first time in his life; it made him look strangely small, from all the weight he'd lost. He pushed his completely dry glasses up his nose—Ron made a mental note to kill Hermione—and leaned almost casually on his broomstick. "What do you want?" Harry asked, almost sullenly.

Anyone else would've thought Harry's posture ludicrous considering the weather. Ron was fairly sure Harry was leaning on his broom because otherwise he couldn't stand up. In June Harry had dueled with Lord Voldemort, and nearly died; now it was August, and though he'd recovered remarkably quickly in such a short span, he hadn't come nearly as far as he seemed to think he had. Not that he listened to anyone who tried to tell him so; Ron was ready to tie him to the bed. Instead he seized Harry's shoulder and snatched his Firebolt away with the other hand. "What the hell are you playing at, Harry?" he demanded. "You're lucky you weren't blown off."

"I haven't fallen off a broom in years." Harry shrugged Ron's arm off and stepped away, swaying slightly.

Ron's jaw clenched as he tried to reign in his temper. "You haven't tried to go flying in the middle of a bloody hurricane, either." A crack of lightening directly overhead made them both jump, and Ron glowered at his friend. "Unless you've got any gillyweed on you, we need to get inside, or we'll we drown out here."

Harry folded his arms across his chest and stared right into the rain. "You can go on ahead, if you want."

Ron tried to remind himself that Harry was an invalid, that Harry was still recovering from some very traumatic events, and that Harry was his oldest and closest friend. _You are not allowed to kill him,_ he told himself sternly, and tucked the broomstick under his arm. "Let me rephrase that," he said sternly. "If you don't come inside willingly, I'm going to carry you."

Harry scowled. "I don't need you to baby-sit me."

"Obviously, you _do,_ if you're going to try flying in this weather!"

"I've flown in worse."

"Not when you've been sick!" Harry stepped forward to say something, probably something angry, but he stumbled in the slick grass. Ron caught him before he fell face-first into a puddle, momentarily terrified that his friend was going to pass out, but Harry just clung to him while he regained his balance. It was a moment of intense conflict for the redheaded boy: he was still annoyed but quite concerned, and with Harry practically in his arms he was sorely tempted to do a select few things that were entirely inappropriate to the situation. Harry had more than enough problems already, Ron told himself firmly, and when his friend had both feet firmly beneath him he stepped away and calmly asked, "Inside? Please?"

"Fine," Harry said, resignedly. "Fine, whatever you say." His shoulders slumped, and he silently trailed Ron into the castle, squelching as they went.

Dumbledore had allowed Harry to stay through the summer holidays partly because of his health, partly for his safety, but mostly to let him temporarily avoid the rest of the wizarding world. Ron had stayed because of Harry. They'd been moved out of Gryffindor Tower and assigned guest quarters, but after the third or fourth time Ron had kipped on the floor in Harry's room, they'd gone right back to their old beds in their old dormitory. By the time they got to the top of the tower, Harry was breathing heavily and had begun to shiver, rivulets of water running down the sides of his face. Ron would've gladly slowed down or stopped to let Harry catch his breath, but Harry didn't ask, and Ron didn't feel up to the fight he knew a suggestion would provoke. Once they were in their dorm he quickly tossed aside their cloaks and steered Harry towards his bed. "Do you need a hand?" he asked, prepared for the worst.

But Harry just shook his head mutely and began tugging at the laces of his trainers, not even looking up.

Ron turned to his own bed, quickly peeled off most of his own clothing and stuffed it into the hamper. He pulled on a dry shirt and jeans, and was about to start rooting around in his trunk for socks when he noticed that Harry, half-dressed, had suddenly sat down on the edge of his bed and buried his head in his hands. Water from his hair dripped down over his knuckles to spot his dry trousers, and without a shirt the knobs and ridges of his bones stuck out all over. Ron sat down next to him gingerly, his previous annoyance fading. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Harry shook his head. "I'm fine," he said mechanically.

"Knut for your thoughts?" Ron put his arm on Harry's shoulder, feeling the architecture of his bones under damp, clammy skin. Harry shook his head and tried to scoot away, but Ron kept right at his side. "Harry..."

"The NEWTs," he blurted suddenly. "I was just...thinking about the NEWTs."

Ron frowned. Dumbeldore had wisely cancelled those exams in the face of postwar celebration, and rescheduled them for the end of this month. The Hogwarts Express would make special trips for those students not graced with the headmaster's dispensation to stay the summer. Hermione had been owling them for weeks with elaborate revision schedules that they had promptly and diligently ignored. Ron guessed that the exams were the last thing on Harry's mind, but it was the best chance at conversation they'd had for days, and he was getting sick of dancing around Harry's silence—especially when it was obvious that it wasn't due to lack of things to say. "What about the NEWTs?" he prompted.

"Just...Madame Pomfrey says I'll be able to take them all, as long as I get plenty of rest before and after."

"That's good."

"Yeah." Harry gnawed on the ragged end of his thumbnail for a few minutes, then added more quietly, "Remus said he'd come visit soon, before exams, probably."

"That'll be nice."

"...he wants me to come stay with him."

A funny feeling crept into Ron's stomach from behind, one that made his voice come out all funny and rough. "That's good," he said. "Does he—did he say when you could move in?"

"Not yet...at least, not since he wrote me last."

"Because," Ron scuffed his bare toe across the floor, "well, if there's not—if he's not got a room ready, or whatever, right away, you know you can always come stay with us."

"Yeah." Harry looked out the window, although there was nothing to see but the fat blots of raindrops on the glass. He bowed his head again, but this time conjured no more small talk to fill the silence.

Ron squeezed his shoulder gently. "Harry...what are you really thinking about?"

"I told you, the NEWTs."

"Like hell you are."

"I am," he said, abruptly shifting into belligerence. "For once in my life, I'm worrying about something completely and utterly normal, just like everyone else, all right?"

Ron stood and folded his arms. "You didn't just nearly kill yourself because of a stupid exam, Harry."

"I didn't nearly kill myself."

"Because I stopped you!"

"I didn't...I wouldn't...hell." Harry raked his fingers through his hair, sending droplets of water flying and leaving his fringe sticking up in comical spikes. "I'm just sick of being cooped up in the castle. That's why I went flying."

"You picked a perfect day for it." Harry rolled his eyes and leaned against the post of the bed. "If you just wanted to get out of the castle, why not _tell_ me? Instead of sneaking out and—" _scaring me half to death, thinking you were gone— _"and not telling me?"

Harry studied his feet. "I guess...I wanted to prove that I could do it myself."

"Did you have to do it in the middle of a hurricane?"

"Yes," Harry said, with a set to his jaw that usually signaled trouble for all involved. "Yes, I did."

"Why?"

"Because...look...what do you want to do with your life?"

"Excuse me?"

Harry looked up at him over the rims of his glasses and said, slowly, "What do you want to do? Now that he's gone?"

No need to ask for clarification, considering. "Hell, Harry, I don't know." Ron sat next to him again. "I wanted to be an Auror, but now…I reckon I'll see what I get for NEWTs and decide then."

"Hermione's got it all planned out, you know." Harry pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them. "She's got a whole list of goals. It's color-coded."

"Well, I, for one, am shocked." When Harry didn't so much as twitch, Ron prompted him, "What about you? What do you want to do now?"

"It's funny like that," Harry said, halting and awkward, "because I've never thought about it before. I mean, when McGonagall asked me back in fifthy year, I told her I wanted to be an Auror, because it seemed…I don't know, automatic. Like it was the only thing I _could _be. My whole life, from the moment I found out I was a wizard, it was leading up to one moment, one big thing...and I really thought I was going to die, when I finally faced him. It never really occured to me that I'd have a future to plan for, so I just...didn't. And now everything is ending...soon I'll have to leave Hogwarts, and you and Hermione will go off and have lives, and everyone else will have a life, and I'll just be stuck somewhere where I don't belong, with nothing to do." He sighed. "Maybe...maybe I was supposed to have died."

Ron's jaw dropped, but in the next moment he seized Harry by the arms and turned him so they faced each other. 'That's not true," he blurted, practically shaking the smaller boy. "Harry, you know that's not true..."

"I know," he said, and sighed, and rubbed his bare arms. "I know, believe me, but...everyone else is moving on, you know? Everyone else is living. And I'm just stuck here...you're all leaving me behind."

Ron shook his head. "No one is leaving you behind."

"Yes, you are." Harry climbed to his feet, clutched the bedpost when he wobbled a bit, then strode towards the window. "Everyone is leaving, one way or another. Sirius is dead, Hagrid is dead...Dumbledore's retiring after this school year, you know, and Hermione kept talking about that internship at the Salem Institute...I don't think 'hang around with neurotic former hero' is in her five-year plan."

"Your'e not neurotic," Ron said mulishly.

"Maybe I am." Harry folded his arms stubbornly. "Maybe Voldemort knocked something loose in my head. Maybe that's why I can't seem to move on and get a life like everyone else."

Ron put his hands on Harry's shoulders. "Harry, you nearly died! Nobody is holding a stopwatch and asking why you've not gotten over it yet!"

"You're just going on without me instead."

"Damn it, Harry, _no one is leaving you! _Remus just invited you to come live in his house!"

Harry looked down at his feet. "That's because he thinks he owes it to Sirius...I'm sick of living on everyone else's charity." Ron's frustration surged, and he spun away before he started blurting out unfortunate things—or just took a swing at his stupid, stubborn excuse for a best mate. _If anyone could interpret an invitation as proof of his own uselessness, it's Harry,_ he thought. In a twisted way, it was kind of endearing.

Harry regarded him curiously as he paced. "What's wrong?" he asked, apparently in perfect innocence.

Ron turned again, feet planted, fists clenched, inches from his friend's face. "Harry, what's it going to take to convince you that you aren't just...just _tolerated_ because of that blasted scar?" he snapped, just on the edge of shouting. "That people might still want you around now that V-V-Voldemort's gone? _Especially_ now?"

Harry folded his arms again. "Name one person who wants _me_ around, Ron—not the Boy Who Lived, not James Potter's son, not Witch Weekly's most eligible bachelor—just me. Just one."

"Me."

"Why?"

Ron blinked.

__

Because you're my best friend. Because you're a hero. Because you always buy your own clothes a size too big. Because my mum wants to adopt you. Because you've never compared me to my brothers. Because you taught me how to use a fellytone. Because you snore. Because you laugh at my jokes. Because your hair looks funny in the morning and you sleep with your mouth open. Because you're still shorter than me. Because you saved my sister. Because you're a spectacular Seeker. Because you saved my life. Because you lived. Because you don't complain about lending me money but you do complain when I pay you back. Because you've never ever beaten me at chess. Because you'd miss me most.

For your sake. For my_ sake. For a lark. For peace of mind._

No reason at all.

Ron had opened his mouth to speak, but instead he pressed it against Harry's, gently and slowly. He wrapped his arms around Harry's neck, already braced for rejection, but Harry gingerly encircled Ron's waist with his arms and kissed back. The kiss was clumsy, soft, and totally silent, except for gasps of breath and sliding hands. Privately Ron thought it was a better answer than words could say.

Harry shivered and pulled slightly away, reminding them both that he was still wet and still stripped to the waist. Ron rubbed his back, tracing the shapes of muscle and bone, and Harry rested his head on Ron's shoulder. Almost reluctantly they broke apart, and Harry put on a dry shirt, and Ron fetched him a towel to dry his hair with. They sat side by side on the bed, fingers touching, in perfect silence.

Harry broke it first. "Do you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"That you'll stay?"

His eyes were guarded, grateful, hopeful, and Ron grinned and squeezed his hand. "Just try to chase me away."

__

-Fin-


End file.
